


Baby's Plight

by Grit_N_Guts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5023888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grit_N_Guts/pseuds/Grit_N_Guts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Baby" is pissed off...Dean is not himself and is treating her abominable. What can she do? She is a family member, after all, and deserves better, doesn't she? Set between S9 and S10</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby's Plight

**Author's Note:**

> As a group of friends we set ourselves a Hellatus Writing assignment each year and the 2015 theme was to write a story out of the Impala's perspective.....we decided on this before finding out that Robbie Thompson's next episode in Season 11 would be "Baby"! I guess, it's good karma then...and here is my contribution. 
> 
> I don't own anything...I am just having fun!

What the FUCK is wrong with Dean??

And where the Hell is Sam? Why did we leave the Bunker alone?

Not that I'm complaining about that part. I was getting pretty damned tired of sitting around in this stable full of other vehicles – all inferior to me, of course – listening to their endless yammering about how no one cares for them.  
Could have thought I was back amongst the rusty old clunkers at Bobby's and not amidst a group of well taken care off, sleek examples of engineering art.   
Come to think of it, the rust buckets at Singer's Salvage Yard were complaining less then these spoiled brats in the bunker's bat cave. 

Of course at first, I thought I was in Heaven!

After years and years on the road with hardly a break, I actually quite enjoyed a bit of TLC in a dry and perfectly tempered place. 

Long days with Dean's knowing, loving hands all over me, in me, working out all the little kinks and scratches, tinkering in all the right places, as only he can, to make me purr and hum for him. Hhhhmmmm, Rrrrrrrrrr.   
It reminded me of the incredible times we had, when Dean had completely taken me apart and put me back together again. Multiple times! Nothing better in the world…..

But, I am getting off topic and I need to watch my temperature and oil pressure….after all, I did not exactly roll off the assembly line yesterday, if you catch my drift?

SO, here I was at the bunker, enjoying Dean’s…care.

No more endless stretches of subpar country lane taking the rubber off my tires; no more ever repeating soundtrack of blaring Hair Metal music; no more frequent stops at rickety gas-n-sips and potholed diner parking lots; no more nights spent out in the harsh weather in front of some no-brand crappy motel, chatting with the junk heaps around me about their boring road trips. 

Just rest and care and the occasional pleasure ride or a case here and there. Aaaahhh, bliss! 

Of course, THAT didn't last long. Before long I found myself utterly bored. Sitting there like a museum piece. Being dusted off like a statue on occasion. 

Come on, I am an American Classic, a precisely calibrated animal of the open highway, a race horse amongst mules, a powerful precision machine, made to run and roar.

Where are the endless stretches of open country highways under my wheels, being pushed to the limit by the Boys’ hurry to get into the next big fight? Where are the inspiring Classic Rock anthems, spilling out the open windows into the air behind us, Dean singing along at the top of his lungs? Where are the frequent stops at down to earth local gas-n-sips and quaint All-American diners, the Boys climbing back in smelling of coffee and pie and bacon and burgers? Where are the long nights under the stars in front of charming low budget lodging swapping stories with the other travelers about our adventures - me always taking the prize for most exciting tale, of course, because....well, we save the world and stuff.

Finally, my plea was heard – Dean came back to me and we were off.

But, turns out, the saying is true – be careful what you wish for! And now I sound just like my buddies back in the bat cave.

So, OK, yeah, I am happy to be back on the road again, moving again, running, roaring, laying down rubber – back in my element, back where I belong…with Dean. 

I can even abide the fact that this snarky, bearded midget of a demon, smelling of brimstone and too much cologne, rides shot gun in Sam’s seat part of the time. Even though he annoys the crap out of me and judging by their conversations he gets on Dean’s nerves, too.

But what the fuck is wrong with Dean?

We’ve been on the road for four weeks now and I am filthy! 

Dirt caked on my normally sleek and shiny skin, muck and mud creeping into my wheelbase and God knows where else, windows so dirty, you can barely see in or out.  
Someone actually wrote "wash me" and "fucking now" on my hood probably scratched my paint job and Dean didn't even get mad. He barely noticed it. 

And Holy Hell, I stink!   
Fast food wrappers with bits of food still inside on my dash, on my back bench and under my front seats. Soda cups, beer and whiskey bottles oozing the remainders of their contents onto my carpets and into the passenger seat - Sam's seat!   
More leaky containers of trash on my back console, where the Boys marked me as theirs, initials scratched deep into the board by the back window (Hhhmmm, one of my favorite memories).

Blood, goo, spit and all kinds of other bodily fluids I can’t even contemplate staining my back seat, because Dean has taken to stowing his hostages and kills there instead of the trunk. 

And speaking of the trunk...the sacred space, the arsenal, the vault, the place where all help is stowed…he hasn't looked at it in a month. Everything is sloppily rolling and bouncing around, rattling and clonking, slamming into my sides on every turn he whips me into.

AND HE JUST DOESN'T CARE! About any of it. About me.

Oh and, of course, he also lets all kinds of other visitors enter me now mixing their fluids with his and adding all of that mess to my already nasty interior. 

In fact, there is a perky little brunette riding his dick right the fuck now. My shocks are creaking and grinding...I really need a bit of grease there. Hellooooo?!

But WAIT a minute….that bit, I can possibly do something about…..if I concentrate really hard and…loosen some of the…

“OUCH!” comes Dean’s surprised yelp and his hips buck of the seat, where a coil jumped under the leather and smacked him in the ass.

“What, babe, am I hurting you?” the brunette’s childlike voice chimes in and all movement stops.

“Sweetheart, you couldn't hurt me if you tried. Now get back to it, let’s finish this. You’re on the clock after all and I ain’t paying extra, alright?”

Crap, and the rocking continues. Well, at least I tried. Wish I could smack him over the head, though! 

 

Dean’s really going too far this time, finally falling over the edge, living out one of his favorite songs, I guess! How did that go? – Oh yeah:

“Livin' easy  
Lovin' free  
Season ticket on a one way ride  
Askin' nothin'  
Leave me be  
Takin' everythin' in my stride  
Don't need reason  
Don't need rhyme  
Ain't nothin' that I'd rather do  
Goin' down  
Party time  
My friends are gonna be there too  
I'm on the highway to hell”

Well, I ain’t planning to join him there. I have to bring him back to his senses.

And another thing, Dean doesn’t even listen to his music anymore. Just has the radio on and sings along to the oddest mix of 80’s and 90’s crap I have ever been tortured with. What’s that all about? It's cramping our style.

And I say it again - Where the HELL is Sam? As far as I can tell, Dean hasn’t called him, hasn’t spoken to Crowley about him. And we haven’t gone back for him.

Sam will talk sense into Dean! He is always able to reach Dean – or has been in the past.

I miss Sam, he was kind to me, always. Drove me with respect. Treated me like I was precious.  
When we had to be alone there for a while, without Dean, he took great care of me.   
Sure, it wasn’t the same! He doesn’t call me “Baby”, he doesn’t know how to fix and tune me and he added some weird, uncomfortable appendage for his music (“douched” me up, Dean said), but he always made sure I was well oiled and gassed up and clean and looked after by experts. Sam knows how to treat a lady.

I am part of the family, after all. Have been, ever since Dean talked John into buying ME over that weird German contraption. (That memory still gives me vertigo.)

I’ve been everything to the Winchester’s: the perfect ‘date car’ for John and Mary; Wedding limo for them, too; race car on the way to both Boy’s births; lovers cave for so many hot and heavy encounters I cannot even remember them all (well, I DO remember John and Mary…I’m still convinced Dean was conceived in my back seat that night); Life saver when we were t-boned by that 18-wheeler; Anchor when we broke through and brought Sam back to himself in Stull Cemetery.

And I fulfilled so many other roles, making so many of my favorite memories:

THE BOYS PLAY PEN – 

“Dean, watcha doing?” Sam’s small voice is sleepy as he straightened up from the nap he took curled up like a cat in my back seat.

“M’ driving the stage coach through the Badlands!” Dean stood behind the front seat, arms extended forward, imaginary reins in hand, and directed the stage coach.

John gave a warm chuckle in the driver seat as we roared on US 44 towards Rapid City.

“I wanna drive the coach, too.” Sam’s voice was more alert now, ready to imitate his big brother as always.

“Can’t, your hands are too small for the reins. We have 6 horses upfront, that's a lotta lines!” Dean said importantly.

“More like 275 horses”, John rumbles, but the Boys paid him no attention.

A Pause. A sniffle. An earth-moving sigh.

“Hey, Sammy, you can be the look out!” Dean said quickly, seeing Sammy’s scrunched up, disappointed face.

“Look out?” Sam asked skeptically, brow still wrinkled but a hopeful glimmer in his eyes.  
“That’s real important. You get the rifle and look out for Indians and Bandits!”

“Really? Can I shoot them when I see any?” Sam’s excitement rose at the prospect of helping his big brother.

“Sure, shoot’em dead, so they don’t rob us! You gotta keep us and the passengers and the mail safe! ‘S all up to you. I’m just the driver!” Dean assured Sam with a big grin.

Sam imitated the noise of loading the Winchester Rifle like he had seen in the Western they watched together on TV the night before and stood up straight besides Dean.   
His big brother laughed at the delighted look on Sam’s face as he surveyed the area around them, imaginary rifle at the ready.

John raced me through a dip in the road and we were momentarily airborne on the crest of the rise.

Dean whooped with joy and quickly grabbed the back of Sam’s shirt as the smaller boy was about to lose his feet.

“You and me against the world, Sammy!”

“Yeah! You and me!” Sam agreed brightly, rifle at the ready again.

And we raced on into a new adventure!

 

CLASS ROOM – 

“Can you tell me what that is?” John’s deep gruff voice rumbled from under my hood.

“Carburetor!” Dean answered eagerly, standing on the old green cooler to be able to see into my engine.

“And where are the spark plugs?”

“There, Sir!”

“And where do we check the oil?”

“Here, Sir!”

“And what’s that called?”

Dean’s sweaty hands slipped a little on my fender.

“Come on, Boy, pay attention, we went over this so many times already!” John chided.

“Sorry, Dad, I…I don’t remember!” voice soft now, worried about a reprimand.

“It’s ok, son! It’s a lot to learn, I know. Try again!” John’s tone had gone gentle as he patted Dean on the shoulder a little clumsily. 

And I knew, he’d make sure that I was always taken care off.

HOME – 

“Wonder where Dad is right now”, came Sam’s quiet voice from the back seat.

“Still huntin’ that Revenant , I’d guess” Dean is trying to find a better sleeping position in the front seat. “Hey, Sammy, hand over the Funions!”

Sam’s feet flew up over the back rest of the front seats as he dove for the snack food bag on the floor.

“DUDE, take your stinky hooves of my Baby’s leather!” Dean exclaimed indignant.

“Your Baby, is it?! Dad only gave you the car like two months ago! Now she’s your girlfriend?” Sam chortled. 

“Well, she’s all we got for a home at the moment…motel money’s run out and we can’t hustle any more pool in this town or we’ll have the Sheriff on our ass! So you better treat her nice…or you can sleep on a park bench!” Dean’s voice was tight with anger and frustration at their fucked up circumstance. Not that this was anything new…Dad disappearing for longer than expected, ordering them to stay put, money running out, Dean having to make due with stealing and cheating to keep Sammy fed.

Silence stretched between the Boys and Dean realized that Sam probably thought he was mad at him.

“Want the last coke, Sammy?” A peace offering in a soft tone, that pleaded for forgiveness.

“Yeah, I guess!” Huge sigh from Sam, and then he continued in a small voice. “What’a we gonna do, Dean? Without money? If Dad….if he…?” 

Dean sat up quickly and his heart clenched at the sight of the scared and forlorn look on his kid brother’s face. This wasn’t fair! Sammy didn’t deserve this! But he also didn't want to run to Bobby’s…again…he had to deal with this himself.

He plastered his cockiest grin on his face and exclaimed. “Come on, Sammy, don’t worry about it. I’ll figure something out…I always do, don’t I?”

Sam’s face brightened a fraction and hope crept back into his big, sad puppy dog eyes as a little smile started to deepen his dimples. “Yeah, you do.”

“Damned right I do. And ‘sides, we got enough money for food and gas to last us a few days and Baby’s gonna keep us nice and dry and warm in the meantime. Nothing else we need, right? We’re home.”

Sam couldn’t stay worried in the face of Dean’s obvious confidence, knowing that his big brother had never let him down in all their years on the road together and he shot his trademark goofy grin at him.

“Sure, Dean, we’re home.” 

And I always did my best to protect them.

 

CONFESSIONAL – 

“It was four months up here, but down there... I don't know. Time's different. It was more like 40 years.”

Soft breath escaped Sam, carrying with it a whispered “My God…”

“They, uh... They sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you... Until there was nothing left. And then, suddenly... I would be whole again... like magic... just so they could start in all over. And Alastair... at the end of every day... every one... he would come over. And he would make me an offer. To take me off the rack... if I put souls on... if I started the torturing. And every day, I told him to stick it where the sun shines. For 30 years, I told him. But then I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy. I couldn't. And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it, and I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls. The -- the things that I did to them.” 

Dean’s voice cracked at the end, raw and in such pain, my oil nearly congealed.

“Dean... Dean, look, you held out for 30 years. That's longer than anyone would have.” Sam’s tears dripped off his chin onto my trunk lid as his heart shattered at the anguish in his big brother’s voice.

Dean didn’t seem to hear him, just continued as if in a trance. 

“How I feel... This... inside me... I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing.” 

His hot tears fell into the dusty ground besides my back tire.

Sam shifted on my trunk lid, scooted closer to Dean and reached out an arm towards his brother’s shoulder to….he didn’t know - to comfort, to console, to commiserate? That had always been Dean’s job. Sam was terrified all of a sudden of not being able to repay the favor, not being…enough.

But as Dean’s quiet sobs continued to shake me Sam gathered his courage and closed the last few inches of distance between his fingers and Dean’s jacket and he gripped his big brother’s shoulder tightly.

For a moment it seemed as if the scene had frozen in place, both Boys holding their breaths unsure of what reaction to expect from the other. Then Dean stiffened and straightened as if ready to flee, get away from unwanted attentions and pointless emotions; crawl back into the protective shell of silent suffering he was so very used to.   
But it was too late, Dean had let a crack open in his facade and Sam was pouring support, warmth and understanding into him through that fissure, filling him to the brim and bursting the dam.

Dean sagged back against my side and let he tears course down his face again and Sam let out a careful breath, trying to stifle his own sob of relief that Dean hadn’t pushed him away and of sympathy for his brother’s pain.

After another moment Sam said quietly. “I might never fully understand, what it was like..for you…or why you did what you did. But, Dean,…I know you and there is no doubt in my mind that you did absolutely everything you could. If there was another way, you would have found it!”

Dean just shook his hanging head, wiping a hand across his mouth, and Sam could feel him tremble under his hand. He slid off the trunk and walked slowly and carefully around Dean, never taking his hand off his shoulder, still worried that Dean would walk away, until he stood squarely in front of his older brother.

“This is not your fault, Dean!” Sam’s voice was quiet, but firm and confident. “And we’ll find a way to fix whatever comes next. We always do, somehow. Just….don’t…shut me out, ok? I can take whatever you tell me. I just wanna help.”

Sam shook Dean gently by the shoulder to get him to look up, give some type of reaction, even if it was a right hook to the chin, if that was what Dean needed to dish out to feel better. Sam just couldn’t stand to see Dean like this, weighed down by the burden of the world on his shoulders and the idea that he had to bear this alone. 

Dean finally quieted some and lifted his head to look at his “little” brother looming over him with deep concern and love edged all over his face and the funny little wrinkle between his brows. 

He felt slightly ashamed for the big time chick flick moment he had just caused, but he couldn’t deny that this had eaten him up inside and that it felt good to vent.  
Dean was also deeply relieved about the fact that Sam hadn't turned away from him in disappointment and disgust at the confession he had just laid on him. Sam’s complete trust in his character and judgment meant the world to Dean, even though it wouldn't erase the guilt he felt over his actions in Hell.

“C’mere.” Dean growled and pushed of my side to even out the height difference between them, before he grabbed Sam by the back of the neck, fisting his little brother’s shaggy hair there and pulling him in for one of the signature bone-crushing Winchester hugs that conveyed more feelings than a Thousand words. Dean thumped Sam on the back a couple of times and then simply held on, while Sam slid one arm around Dean’s shoulders and squeezed the juncture between his brother’s neck and shoulder with the other.

“Thanks, Sammy. I’ll try to remember that.” Dean rumbled and the brothers just stayed in the hug for a moment longer, drawing strength and support from one another. 

Dean finally pushed back from Sam and wiped his hand down his face, drying the last of his tears, and he said with a low, hoarse chuckle. “And if you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll have to kill ya!”

Sam barked out a laugh as they both climbed back into me to continue our journey.

And even though, I wasn’t able to protect them from that pain, at least it was out now and we were moving on – together.

 

 

AMBULANCE – 

Dark road, fiery streaks of light in the sky, the smell of blood and brimstone clinging to the Boys.

“Hold on, Sam! Sammy?” Dean’s voice was tight with panic. “Come on, man. Open your eyes! Stay with me!”

A low moan from Sam slumped against Dean’s side in the shotgun seat.

“Fuck!” Dean wrenched the wheel around another humanoid clump on the road, another fallen angel.  
Driving in these conditions really required his full concentration and both hands on the wheel, but he wouldn’t let go of Sam, his right arm tightly clamped around his little brother’s shoulder and chest in an effort to hold him upright.

“Don’t do this to me, Sam. Come on, you have to stay awake. I’ll get you help. We’re almost at the hospital. Just hang on, ok? Sammy? Can you talk to me?” 

“Yeah, ‘m here. Trying…to…so…tired….” Sam’s voice was cracked and hoarse and he dissolved into a wet, hacking coughing fit.

Dean pulled me tight to the left, careening around the next corner at break neck speed, my butt fishtailed crazily, but I kept us on the road.

“’S ok, Sammy, I’ve got you. Just stay with me here. Don’t you go into the fucking light or whatever. We’re gonna be ok! We can fix this.”

No answer from Sam.

“God Dammit! CAS? Where the fuck are you? I need you…now! Sonofabitch!”

Another squealing turn and Dean floored my gas pedal again.

“Come on, Come on, Baby, gotta go faster, we have to get Sammy to the ER! I can’t lose him now.”

And I gave him all I got until I came to a screeching halt in front of the hospital’s emergency room entrance and Dean jumped out before I had even settled to a full stop.

“I need some HELP here!” Dean bellowed at the top of his lungs while he ran around to the passenger door.

And I had gotten them there safely.

+++++++++++++++++

 

So, you can see, I’ve been there for them …always.

And now….all Dean does is kick me around, like I am just an old hunk of metal, nothing more than a mode of transportation. He actually kicked my door shut a couple of times and he throws his trash and bloody kills inside me like I am a dumpster. Hasn't changed my oil, washed my skin or polished and oiled my leather in forever.

 

Ugh, finally, the grunting, moaning and rocking stopped.

“Call me?” the brunette squeaks as she gets out. 

“Not promising nothin’, darlin’, I’m just on my way through.” Dean’s tone is neutral almost bored. 

And he sparks me to life and floors the exhilarator as if I was brand new. By Penzoil and all that’s holy….show me some respect.

 

An hour passes….then two….we’re still driving…WHERE to? What’s next? How much worse can this get?

You know, what? This is TOO much….I can’t take this anymore….and the further we get away from the Bunker the less likely it is that Sam finds us. Something has to happen….maybe….just maybe, I can do something about that, too…..wait…there….aaah, yesssss.

“Oh, come on! You old pile of crappy scrap metal. Not now!”, Dean exclaims annoyed and slaps my wheel as I sputter and cough and then come to a rolling halt on a dark road, just across the parking lot to what the sign proclaims to be the Black Spur Bar.

Yes, exactly now. I’ve had it! This is it! You either come to your senses or we are staying here until Sam comes and finds us. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Well, it was a good plan, but that was one week ago, Sam hasn’t found us yet and I haven't seen much of Dean after he disappeared into that bar and the adjacent motel.

Sure, he spent an hour doing some basic maintenance on me, getting me back to working order and parking me properly in front of the bar. But his hands were rough and his movements uncaring. It was nothing like he used to touch me.

And now I sit around again – waiting.

BANG! Now what?

A slight looking blonde woman crashes into my side, but jumps straight back up as Dean comes striding around the corner of the bar out of the dark alley, movements smooth and lithe like the dangerous predator he is these days.

“Winchester, you have no idea what you got yourself into!” snarls the Blonde and fixes Dean with her black eyes.  
Dean looks around in mock surprise, raising his arms to shoulder height, gripping the First Blade in one hand. The Mark of Cain is shining dark red on his exposed arm in the light of the street lamp.

“What? Am I missing somethin’? All I see is one lonely demon skank with bad hair.”

She hisses at him, but slowly retreats around my front end to the other side of my hood.

“I’m not alone! There are always more where I come from.”

Dean’s answering chuckle is dark and bears a razor’s edge as he steps closer to my front, opposite from the demon. “Please, by all means, let’s wait for your buddies. It’ll make the odds slightly more interesting, before I kill you all.”

She lunges at him with a screech and he easily snatches her out of the air by the throat slamming her onto my hood with a resounding crash, the impact bouncing me on my front shocks.

“Wrong move, bitch!” Dean growls and calmly slides the First Blade into the girl’s chest.

He holds her pressed tight to my hood, while she jerks and screams and finally goes still.

“What a letdown.” Dean remarks into the silence that follows the violence. “And I was hoping for a real fight.”

Then he slides the Blade out of the corpse and dumps her into my back seat…of course!

Suddenly there’s the smell I am all too familiar with by now…Crowley.

“We need to talk.” the King of Hell says stiffly, words clipped precisely, as he leans back against my side, studying Dean, who is cleaning the blood and gore of the Blade with a rag.

“Do we?” Dean’s voice is mocking.

“Watch your tone with me, Squirrel!” Crowley’s tone is annoyed, but also the slightest bit concerned.

“Why?” There is sharper interest from Dean now and the edge is back in his voice, still ready for a fight.

“Are you daft, killing in plain sight for all the world to see?”

“Was just another demon, who cares?”

“The nice old lady walking her Dachshund over there, seeing you killing a seemingly lovely young woman cared! She cared so much, she called the cops!” Crowley’s voice is rising and carries a petulant tone.

Dean just shrugs, bored again.

“Couldn’t let the local law enforcement mess up our little party now, could I? So you left me no choice but to kill the old bag, too, before she gave away the location of our little love nest.” 

“And the Wiener Dog?” Dean looks at Crowley with a lazy raise of one eye brow.

“Are you seriously telling me that you are concerned about the DOG at this particular moment? But you couldn’t care enough for the woman to be a little less obvious?” 

“Don’t get your pink silk panties in a twist now, Crowley.” Dean chuckles again, amused at the aggravation he seems to be able to pull from the so called Kind of Hell so easily these days.

Crowley does not let Dean goad him any further and calms his tone with considerable effort.

“I am aghast at your lack of professionalism or at least consideration!”

“Shouldn't be. After all, if I recall correctly, it was YOU who made me…..this.” Dean gestures up and down himself with the First Blade still in hand and it is all Crowley can do not to take a nervous step back. 

“That’s beside the point. What did you do with the corpse?“ Crowley skates over the accusation.

Dean thumps his fist twice against my back window.

“Good, you haven’t gone completely off the rails then.” Crowley sighs. “But honestly, Dean, would it kill you to keep your activities a wee bit more inconspicuous?”

“Well, that’s really the core of the problem, isn’t it?! Nothing can kill me. No matter what I do?” Dean’s voice carries a hint of something, I haven't heard in a long while – Regret? Guilt? Sadness? Concern? A hint of the old Dean that makes my hope rise sharply. He’s still in there!

Crowley doesn’t notice it and plunges on. “And you have put that to the test and taken full advantage of it with your recent brain dead behavior. It was YOUR idea after all to hang out in this smelly armpit of a town for your sabbatical and let your inner Redneck shine. I’d say it’s time now to move downstairs and get a move on our work.”

“Not by a long shot, buddy. I am just startin’ to get friendly with the locals.” Dean’s tone resumes the bored drawl he has recently adopted as he stows the First Blade in the back of his jeans, covers it up and swaggers off towards the bar entrance.

“Brilliant!” Crowley scoffs and mutters under his breath. “Juliette in heat is easier to control than this nutter! And he was supposed to be the bottom in this relationship. Bloody Hell!   
I might need to call in Moose to get a leash on his pet .”

I can't believe it, but this smarmy Hell Spawn took the words right out of my speakers. Looks like we might be on the same side after all. SO, let's do this.

 

The End


End file.
